


Reunion

by Vizkopa



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Lemon, Smut, Spanish!Mihawk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vizkopa/pseuds/Vizkopa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Do you still taste the same as I remember, querida?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

It was cold out and you could hear your teeth chattering above the howling wind. But still you could not bring yourself to knock on the door. It had been too long. Surely he had moved on by now. Would he even want to see you after all these years?

How desperate you must look right now. Standing on his steps in the cold and the dark, hoping he still held even just a shred of the feelings you once shared, hoping he’d take pity on you. That he’d take you back and hold you in his arms and tell you everything would be alright.

Maybe you were and idiot for even entertaining such a notion. But you’d never find out if you couldn’t even muster up the courage to knock on his front door.

You steeled yourself and raised your fist, but before it could even touch the wood, the great double doors swung inward, seemingly of their own accord, and a burst of heat and firelight hit you. He knew you were there. Of course he knew. And he’d been waiting for you to make the first move. 

You cursed under your breath, wishing you could just turn around and run away. But now you had no choice but to face him. You entered the castle, jumping as the doors swung shut behind you. Mihawk was waiting for you in the entrance hall, arms cross over his bare chest, Yoru sheathed at his back. He was bathed in firelight from the open dining hall to your right, the flickering shadows giving him an ominous appearance.

“So you’ve returned,” he said. “What brought you to that decision?”

“I shouldn’t have left,” you said, cringing at the way your voice shook. “I… I’m sorry. Please, will you take me back as your student and… in time, maybe we could—?”

“Draw your sword. Show me what you’ve learned.”

_What?_ You had just gone against your pride and came crawling back to him, and he wanted to spar? You searched his face but found no trace of mercy, no hint of the feelings he held for you all those years ago. It was not your Mihawk that stood before you. This was the Greatest Swordsman in the World and he was not about to let you hurt him again.

“Mihawk, please—”

“Draw your sword,” he repeated and the venom in his voice stung.

Scrambling to obey his command, your cutlass had barely left its sheath when he lunged at you. You brought up your sword—it seemed so woefully small and fragile compared to Yoru’s great blade—just in time to parry the blow. You grit your teeth as the impact jarred your shoulder. He wasn’t holding back. 

The two of you clashed, the sound of steel on steel echoing off the stone walls. He was ruthless, so unlike those days when he would instruct you on your technique, the calm and patient teacher. Just as he was a calm and patient lover. But you saw none of that in him now as he slowly began to overwhelm you. 

You began to retreat towards the dining room, hoping to use the furniture to put some distance between you, but he saw through your plan easily and darted forward to engage you at close quarters. Your blades crashed together, sparks flying, and for a moment you were locked in a struggle. His face was so close to yours, his eyes steady on yours, waiting for you to make the mistake that would ensure his victory.

Your sword flexed and for a moment you were worried it would shatter under the force, until you managed to disengage and retreat a few steps. He only came back stronger, raining a flurry of blows down on you so fast all you could do was parry them desperately. You skirted around the dining table, hoping to place it between him and yourself so you could catch your breath, but he followed, never even breaking stride.

You stumbled back, each strike forcing you further into a corner. Your arm was numb to the shoulder and sweat poured into your eyes. You watched and waited for an opportunity to gain some ground, but Mihawk’s onslaught never faltered for a second. A sudden fear gripped your heart.

He was going to kill you.

And in the end you would only have yourself to blame.

Suddenly, your heel caught on something on the floor and you lost balance for a brief moment. You felt heat at your back. The fireplace. There was nowhere else for you to run. With a flash of triumph in his eyes, Mihawk struck, the force of it tearing your sword from your hand and sending it skidding away across the stone floor. You took a step back, hands up defensively as he bore down on you.

You stumbled again and fell hard, catching yourself on your hands before you could crack your head open only to feel plush carpet breaking your fall. You looked down in surprise. You had tripped on an ornate rug that had been spread out before the fireplace.

Well, at least if Mihawk was going to kill you, the thought of bloodying the carpet might forestall your death.

Steel sang and you found yourself gazing down the length of Yoru as its tip nestled under your chin.

“Was it worth it?” he hissed.

“No.” You swallowed hard, ignoring the stinging in your eyes and the cold razor edge at your throat. Mihawk lifted the blade slightly, forcing your chin up to look straight at him. His eyes were cold and cautious.

“Then why did you leave?”

“I thought I was ready. I—I was wrong.”

He watched you for a moment, sword steady at your throat, then he sighed. “You still have much to learn.” He lifted Yoru’s blade from your neck and stepped back, holding out his free hand to you. His eyes softened. “Your training resumes tomorrow.”

Tears of relief pooled in the corners of your eyes as gladly took the offered hand. He pulled you to your feet and straight into his arms, holding you flush against his taut body. You sighed and folded into him, letting his scent surround you, feeling the heat of his skin that you had missed so much on those long winter nights. It had been so long.

“But tonight,” he said. “We must make up for lost time.”

He lifted your head with a firm hand on your chin and kissed you with an urgency that told you he had waited long enough.

“ _Te extrañé, querida_ ,” he whispered against your lips when you broke apart. Your heart leaped at the affectionate term. You felt like you had waited eternity just to hear it uttered from his lips once more. “Never leave me again.”

Yoru clattered the floor as the two of you came together in a heated, frenzied kiss. You cast his hat aside so you could thread your fingers in his hair, hear his low growls as you tugged at the dark strands, urging him onwards. His heavy brocade coat went next, your fingernails raking at his back as you pushed it from his shoulders to crumple to the ground.

In turn, he tugged at your shirt, reluctantly breaking the kiss to pull it over your head. You took the opportunity to breathe before he dived back in to claim your lips once more. Wandering hands found your ass and squeezed appreciatively, then made quick work of the remainder of your clothes. Then he began walking you backwards until the small of your back hit the edge of the dining table.

You let him hoist you up until you were perched on the edge of the table and immediately wrapped your leg around his waist. He was already hard for you, but he had other ideas as he dropped to his knees and hooked your legs over his shoulders.

“Do you still taste the same as I remember, _querida_?” he asked, looking up at you with dark eyes. “I wonder…” He didn’t wait a second longer.

His grip on your hips was harsh almost to the point of bruising and his goatee was coarse against your inner thighs. He didn’t hesitate to use everything he had—lips, tongue, teeth, fingers. He took his time, leaving no part of you untouched, and he was rough in a way he had never been with you before. 

He didn’t stop until he had you shuddering beneath him in your first orgasm and even then, his iron grip on your thighs and his assault on your clit didn’t let up until you careened straight into your second. You tried to close your legs to him, oversensitive and all but whimpering for him to stop, to fuck you already, but his arms were hooked tightly around your thighs, holding them open until you rode out your climax in its entirety.

When, finally, the shudders had ceased, he raised his head. His hair was in disarray from where your fingers had gripped and pulled but he didn’t seem to mind. His lips and chin glistened with the evidence of your release and his golden eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. When he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue but you were too spent to care. 

“Tired already, _mi amor_? You used to be able to go all night,” he teased, fingers running over your bare arms and chest, goose bumps erupting across your skin in their wake and nipples hardening under his encouraging strokes. You felt the flame deep in your belly rekindle and the breath you were only just beginning to catch become laboured once more. Only he could have this effect on you. You had missed this.

You reached down and palmed his straining cock through his pants, delighting in the low growl that rumbled through his chest at your touch. You unclasped his belt and let it fall to the ground, pushing his pants down his hips to follow after it.

“That’s more like it,” he said, his arms tightening around you as he lifted you from the table. You clung on tightly, letting him carry you the short distance to the fireplace and lay you down gently on the rug before it. The warm light illuminated his porcelain skin as he hovered over you, smooth and unblemished—a stark contrast to your own, which was now littered with scars.

He traced them with his fingers. “You could have avoided these, you know? If you hadn’t been so foolish.”

“I know. I won’t make that mistake again.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss that left you both breathless, parting your thighs to make room for his hips. He settled between them, caging you with his forearms on either side of your head. His eyes met yours and something seemed to click, and then he was inside you, his body hot and pressed as tight against yours as he could manage and his lips at your throat where he whispered phrases you didn’t understand into your skin.

“ _Eres mía_ , [Name]. Never forget that.”

He pumped into you in long, hard strokes, chest flush against yours as if he couldn’t bear to not feel as much of your skin against his as possible. All the pain and anger, all the loneliness and the heartache from the years you had been apart pouring out into one desperate, passionate lovemaking.

When you felt the heat begin to crawl up from your core and engulf you, you let is wash over you with his name on your lips, bringing him over the edge with you. In the aftermath, you slept, too exhausted to dream but the faint sensation of someone stroking your hair softly reached you even in your unconsciousness.

And in the dark hours before dawn, when the fire had burned down to embers and your laboured breaths came in clouds of steam, he made love to you again—slowly this time, until the sun finally peeked over the rim of the horizon.

Afterwards, you lay in his arms, legs entangled with his and a deep, satisfying ache between your thighs. You yawned widely and felt his chest rumble with silent laughter.

“Sleep, _querida_ ,” he said. “Your lessons begin in a few hours and I won’t go easy on you.”

You had not the energy to argue.


End file.
